Guns, burgers and bad ideas

Just back from an overnight stay in North Wales with B and W’s friends, Hairy and Smiley.  And what a refreshing change!  Not only did they take the humans off my hands for a while, but I was allowed to go off with my dog friend Big Sam, presented with a new bone and discovered there were loads of cow pats to roll in.

Hairy and Smiley live on a farm, which reminded me of my parent’s farm in Nelson.  There was a whole gang of dogs (– including Storm Norris, who I’ve been talking to on Facebook) – along with sheep, cows and a barn full of terrifying big birds, which I attempted to strike up a conversation with, only to beat a hasty retreat when the squawky b******s tried to peck my eyes out.

However, it was not all good.  What is it with these humans?  As soon as the Sauvignon Blanc starts to flow, they seem to forget we can actually speak English. 

To start with, Sam and I were quietly finishing off some unwanted cheesecake behind the barbeque when I suddenly realised the conversation had turned to me ... and ..... I kid you not.........the pros and cons of having me CASTRATED.  I couldn’t believe my pointy ears.

Traitors. 

To be fair, Beard defended me as if he was fighting to keep his own, but I am very, very suspicious that I have not heard the last of this.

And then, it got even worse.  Smiley blithely explained that her sheep are being killed and eaten by a mystery predator which tests say is not indigenous to the British Isles... and there have been multiple sightings of a gigantic black panther-like creature roaming the area.

I’m sorry – what did you just say?

Immediately following this conversation, Beard attempted to make me run around a remote field in the pitch black because I hadn’t done a poo all day.  I think not. 

And then, to my complete amazement, Hairy.... wait for it... gave him a gun. 

Now, Hairy might be a Bear Grylls type of a guy.  But let’s face it, Beard is a lunatic – I’ve seen the damage he can do with an egg whisk – the idea of a gun doesn’t bear thinking about.

To cut a long story short, I beat a hasty retreat to the corner of the guest bedroom and didn’t move all night.